[AW] the heart of the sun

[Shrike]

like a fresh cut flower promises sure to wither up There is an echo of something familiar in the dusky mare’s words, in their pitch and tone of meaning. Shrike watches her sharply, then, for the teal-eyed mare was speaking as Calliope might (as she had, in fact, as they followed the red river deep into the heart of Velius years and worlds ago). This place might suit her yet, more than just sand and sun-bleached bone. Maybe it should not surprise her that all deserts bred the same sort of brood – always survivors. “Well spoken,” she said, and there was a touch of admiration in it. Of course, Shrike’s own loyalties lay far from here (or so she thought), no matter that her own veins may as well be canyon walls, and the heat of the sun lived always on her skin. Her mouth pulls wryly at the stranger’s comment then, and Shrike met her gaze with an amused brow. “Smarter than the decision of those feral horses to do the same. It could have easily worked out otherwise for me.” She doesn’t mind the pause as the woman considers her question; it is yet another opportunity to sweep her gaze across the windblown streets, short of their shadows by high angle of the sun. Empty doorways looked black as gaps in teeth, the street a crooked smile. When the answer does come, she turns back to her companion. Her head is tilted in consideration, her expression even and unreadable. “Diplomatic,” she replies, and then lifts her head and gives a little shrug of her shoulders, loosening still-aching muscles. This may be her afterlife, but her body was seemingly beholden to the same laws as the last one. When she spoke again, her voice was as even as the line of her mouth, but light and friendly enough. “I may as well remain until it’s cool enough to travel. Is there a way I can make myself useful in the meantime?” A beat of silence, and then: “I am Shrike, by the by.” @Teiran SHRIKE